


Nice and Blue

by mytimehaspassed



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Sibling Incest, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-24
Updated: 2010-05-24
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:11:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytimehaspassed/pseuds/mytimehaspassed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day Sam leaves for Stanford, you find your father face down in the back booth of the only bar in town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nice and Blue

**NICE AND BLUE**  
SUPERNATURAL  
John/Dean/Sam; (non-con) John/Dean; (unrequited) John/Sam; (pre-) Sam/Dean  
 **WARNINGS** : pre-series AU; slight spoiler for "In My Time of Dying;" non-consenual sex

  
The day Sam leaves for Stanford, you find your father face down in the back booth of the only bar in town. Your father and his growing addictions, the half hidden bottles of Jack Daniels in the bag he carries his favorite gun in, the midnight hangovers that have been building steam since noon, your father’s about to do something stupid and reckless and you feel like you won’t be able to stop it. Your father and the flask he keeps in the inside pocket of his leather jacket, he takes sips in between Latin words that come out slurred and ineffective, in between the symbols he draws with magic marker like black paint on your skin, the sloppy feeling of lips wet with saliva on the back of your neck, on the base of your spine.

Your father and his slippery slope into oblivion, he still has time to touch you.

The day your brother leaves for Stanford, your father gets drunk enough to tell you that every time he reaches for you, every time his fingers and lips and skin brushes yours, your eyes pressed tight together, every fucking time he bites your lip to stop you from crying out, every time, your father thinks of Sam. Your mouth red with your blood, with your father’s, your hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, you laugh so hard you start crying. Tears that roll down your cheeks like water, the day Sam leaves for Stanford, the day Sam has left forever, your father and his empty bottles, you say, “This is so fucked up.”

None of this was supposed to feel so new. None of this was supposed to affect you this way, make you change like this. None of this was supposed to cause you pain. Your father and his inebriation, his slow decline, your father’s trail of bloody kisses down the length of your spine, you’re laughing and laughing. Your father’s fingers gripping your arms so hard they’ll leave bruises, his lips and his skin, none of this was supposed to make you feel this way, none of this was ever supposed to go this far.

The day Sam leaves for Stanford, your father and his drunken haze, his hands all over you, you realize what this has always been about. Your father and his parental shortcomings, this has always been about your brother, no matter whose body has been used all these years. Your father’s teeth and the matching grooves on your skin, the symbols that ripple with each movement of your muscles, your father tells you everything.

He never wanted to touch Sam, he says, and it’s your neck that arches back when his fingers touch a sensitive spot, your mouth that opens, and he’s saying, “I never wanted to hurt him.”

Like you wanted to hurt me?

He never wanted Sam to have that complex, that pain in his life, he says, his fingers and, oh, his teeth grazing the underside of your chin, the rough patch of his unshaven cheek brushing against yours, and he’s saying, “I never wanted to put him through this.”

Like you put me through it?

He never wanted to betray your mother, to take Mary’s death out on Sam, he says, his mouth fitting perfectly with your mouth, his words growing stagnant, his eyes going still, he’s pulling back and saying, “I’ve always wanted to keep him safe.” (But not me?) His hands encircling your naked biceps, pressing hard and harder, shaking you, he’s saying, “I never wanted him to leave, but if that’s what it takes, then I’ll let him go. If that’s what I need to do…” Your father’s fingers and the way he looks at you, like he needs you to understand, like he needs you to forgive him for not stopping Sam, he’s pushing his forehead into yours and saying, “Sammy would never be able to handle this like you can.”

Your father and his bloodshot eyes, his unrelenting grip on your arms, his breath smells like alcohol and you have to bite down this strong urge to bark “Yes, Sir,” like he’s just given you an order.

The day Sam leaves for Stanford, the moment your father tells you everything you’ve never wanted to hear, the day you actually realize what your place in this family is, the day you finally understand. Your father’s on a self-destruct mission and he’s taking you down with him.

He never wanted it to come to this, he says, and your hand feels clammy over his mouth, your fingers turning white against his chin and you’re saying, “I’ll do anything you tell me to.”

***

His mouth brushing against the shell of your ear, it always starts like this. This flash of white light, this glare, this is some kind of memory you’ve never had, some kind of life you’ve never lived. You feel so much older in this dream, older but just as stupid as you’ve always been, his mouth hovering over your ear, over your unshaven cheek, you feel so dumb. It always starts like this, his mouth and your ear, his words just out of reach, just low enough that you can’t even make them out. All this light, and if your father hadn’t trained you as hard as he did, you might even believe that this was Heaven. All this light, and you might even believe that there could be a God.

It always starts like this, his hands bracing themselves on your chest, his hands big and strong and pushing down so hard to cover up their trembles, his hands and your chest, his mouth and your ear. It always starts like this, his mouth so close that you can feel his breath warm against the side of your face. This white light and, oh, god.

***

The day Sam starts sending you text messages with psychological disorders he thinks you guys might have, you and your father, you and Sam, the day Sam lets you know that he thinks you’re just as fucked up as everyone else, your father starts pushing you around. The day Sam sends you text messages with words like superiority complex and narcissistic, all this psychology bullshit you’ve told him a thousand times is all just made up, the day Sam starts sending you messages that say things like egotistical, your father starts hitting you hard enough to leave marks. Sam’s voice in the back of your head when your phone vibrates, it’s saying, he’s saying, obsessive personality disorder, and your father’s hand leaves a bruise on your cheek in the shape of a wedding ring from where he slaps you.

Your father’s hands, pockmarked with scars and age, your father’s skin and the wrinkles that never used to be there, you’re wondering how your father ever got so old. Your father’s fists colliding with the sides of your face after each mission gone wrong, after whatever you’ve done to fuck everything up, after you’ve completely ruined everything, your father’s fists crashing into your ribs, you’re wondering how you never noticed this. The worry lines that crease your father’s face, the small patches of grey in your father’s hair, you’re wondering when he ever changed.

The day Sam starts sending you text messages with vocabulary words from his newest psychology class, words like messiah complex and post-traumatic stress disorder, words you’ve never even seen before, words Sam thinks would have some kind of meaning to you, your father starts letting go of his anger. Your father and the bags that keep growing under his eyes, you’re wondering how you let this all slip by when you know it’s so important, when you need him to be on top of his game. Your father and the white line of his mouth, it’s just so easy for him to take everything out on you, and you’re wondering just how long he’ll make this last.

Sam and his stupid fucking messages, all you ever get is a busy signal when you call.

The day Sam starts sending you text messages with words that are supposed to define your family, that are supposed to fucking explain away everything, your father follows you into the shower. Your father’s hands, scarred, aged, your father’s hands slick as they touch you through the water that runs down your back, you’re only grateful that you’re able to hide your tears. Your father’s hands and their wrinkles and their spider webbed veins, your father looking older than he ever has before, he doesn’t call you Sam when he kisses you, but he might as well have. His eyes shut as tight as they can go, his hands find their way by memory, up and over your shoulders, squeezing so hard you feel like your collarbone might shatter from the press of his thumbs. Your father and his slow decline into old age, you’re wondering why you ever thought he’d go soft when he can still grip you this hard.

You’re wondering why you ever doubted his strength when he can still hurt you this bad.

Your father and his hands all over you, he likes the shower because the blood is easier to clean up that way. Your father and his wet face, he never cries over you, never cries for every shitty thing he’s ever done to you, but you like to pretend he does anyway. You like to pretend he doesn’t think of Sam when he’s with you, that he knows it’s you and he’s breaking down and he’s so fucking sorry about it. Sometimes you just like to pretend that your father actually cares.

You and your father and all these things between you, maybe Sam’s better off running away from this, maybe Sam’s better off not answering when you call. You and your father, the only life you’ve ever known, maybe Sam was right to leave this behind because he’d be going nowhere if he’d have stayed, because he’d be exactly where you are right now. Your father’s hands and his strong hold over you, maybe Sam’s really the hero in all of this because he couldn’t take it anymore, because he had good enough sense to get the fuck out. You father and his hands digging so hard into your shoulder that they’ll leave scars shaped like crescent moons, your father and his hands, it’s nothing abusive, it’s just laying claim to his property.

Your father, he’s not a bad person, his mouth pressed against your neck, pressed against the side of your face, your father, there’s nothing inherently evil about this, really, it wasn’t like you never had a choice. Your father and the bruises he’s left on your skin, they ache beneath the steady pulse of the water, they ache beneath his fingertips, really, it’s not like you couldn’t have said no to any of this. Your father and the way the drops of water run from his eyes like tears, your father looks so fragile.

Your father and the way he presses his mouth against the tip of your ear, pressing lightly, pressing gently, the way he opens his mouth and breaths out against your body, the way he looks so old just then. You don’t have the heart to turn away when he calls you by your brother’s name.

***

Six months after Sam leaves for Stanford, your father gets a lead on the demon that killed your mom. The dreams come every night now, the ones where your father dies, the ones where you’re left alone, the dreams that are so vivid you wake up breathless, hoarse from screaming so much, reaching for something that’s not there. Your father lying next to you in some unnamed motel in some shitty little Podunk town, every time you wake up from these dreams, every fucking time, your father pretends he’s still sleeping. Your father, his fake snores and the way he rolls his eyes beneath each lid, he still pretends even after you’ve started crying.

Six months after Sam leaves you both behind, your father drives all the way to the border of Montana from Kansas without stopping. Your father and the way his eyes grow dark when he realizes whose trail he’s found, when he realizes what he’s on the verge of, your father and the way he looks at you, at least he was grateful enough to leave your stuff behind when he left. Your father and his vengeance kick, you’re wondering how you ever got stuck in a family full of martyrs, anyway. Your father and the way he just leaves you behind, just leaves like Sam just left, you’re wondering what you ever did to deserve all of this.

Your father and the way he still wears his wedding ring even after all these years, even after everything he’s done to you, your father and the way he’s grown, the way he’s gotten older, maybe you’re just not ready for all of this to be over. Your father and every terrible thing he’s ever made you do, your father and his utter faith in Sam’s every word, maybe you’re just not ready for him to leave you for good, to settle down and die in peace. Maybe you’re just not ready for the end because this life is all you’ve ever known. Maybe you’re just not as strong as Sam is.

The day your father leaves you on some wild goose chase, the day he just takes the Impala and splits, six months after Sam leaves for Stanford, six months after Sam leaves you both, you find yourself alone for the first time since your mom died. Your father and his stupid gut feelings, you and your stupid dreams, Sam’s still not answering your calls and you’re stuck in Kansas with nobody to turn to but the half-empty bottles of Jack your father leaves behind.

The day your father leaves you to avenge your mother’s death, six months after Sam leaves for Stanford, you and all of your father’s training, all of your father’s hard work, the day you get left behind, you find yourself trading blowjobs for a ride to California.

***

Sam doesn’t even say anything about the bruises. It’s itching at the back of your mind to tell him that your father did it, that, look, Dad’s just as bad as you thought he was, look, Sam, look what he did, but you can tell he catalogues it as a fight with some demon, some spirit, some whatever, and you just let him believe that. Falling back into old patterns is just so easy, and you let him believe whatever he wants. Sam’s frown, the way he sighs in defeat and annoyance like he won’t ever be able to get away from you, Sam’s glare when he finds you on his doorstep, the first order you ever received from your father was to protect Sam and you’ll go to your grave obeying that, you’ll fucking die before you let anything happen to him.

Sam’s irritated tone of voice, he’ll never tell you how glad he is to see you, and you’ll play the part and never ask. Sam’s angry folding of his arms, tucked tight against his body, Sam’s raised eyebrow, the way he sighs, it’s painfully clear to both of you how long you’ve been holding him back from all of this freedom. How long your father has kept him hidden away. You and Sam and this stupid little apartment in California, it’s painfully obvious how Sam would have turned out if your father had just given up, given in, and let him have a normal life, a safe life. You and Sam, you’re both so different from each other that it hurts.

You don’t tell Sam about the dreams and you don’t tell Sam about Dad. You’re not even really sure why you’re here at all except for the huge wave of relief that sweeps over you the moment you see him, the moment you’ve made sure that he’s alright. You’re not even really sure why you ran to Sam at all, why you didn’t just chase down Dad, why you didn’t hitchhike all the way to Montana, but the moment you step inside Sam’s shitty apartment, you’re not even really sure how you ever let him leave.

Your stupid mouth, it’s just so easy to whisper, “I missed you.”

Sam knows something’s wrong the moment you close your mouth, the moment you bite your lip and steel yourself for his reaction. Sam knows something’s wrong the moment you shut your eyes tight enough to stop your tears. “What,” his hand gripping your arm, his nails biting into the skin of your leather jacket, he’s shaking you until you look at him. “Dean, what is it?”

Your stupid mouth, it’s been betraying you ever since your father left you in Kansas. Your stupid mouth, Sam wouldn’t ever want to be this close to you if he knew how dirty you are, how reckless you’ve been. The things you’ve done to get here, to be here with him, Sam wouldn’t ever want to touch you again.

“Dean,” Sam touches your chin to force you to look him in the eye, and you just feel so dirty. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Sam’s hands all over you, so wrong, so different from your father, Sam’s hands all over you, you never should have come here in the first place.

“I can’t,” your stupid mouth, nothing’s ever gonna come out right. Sam’s hands on you, he’ll never be free if you drag him into this, he’ll never be safe. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do this to you.”

Sam and his confused face, you’ve never been able to hurt someone who looks so angelic. You and your obedience to your father, you’ve never been able to hurt Sam. “You were right to want to be here,” you and your stupid fucking mouth, you and all the things you should’ve said but never could, “You were right to want to run away from us because you can do so much better out here.”

Sam and his new life, he should have his rights, he should be able to do whatever he wants. Sam and everything he can do out here, everything you and your father would hold him back from, Sam should have run away a long time ago. Sam and his bottom lip, it’s trembling as hard as yours. Sam and his quivering mouth, “Why are you saying this?”

You and your wasted life, Sam should never have stuck around so long. You and your hands on his face, your fingers memorizing lifts and curves and soft skin, Sam should never have been put through all of this. You and your stupid mouth, it’s been betraying you ever since Mom died, “Don’t come back, Sammy.” Sam and his new life, Sam and all the things he’s always wanted, you finally understand why your father let him go. You and your stupid mouth, “Don’t ever come back.”

Sam and his mouth so close to yours, Sam and his stupid goodbyes, no matter how much you want this, you can’t play that way, you can’t ruin him like your father ruined you. Sam and his lips hovering over yours, Sam and the way he’s always wanted to do this, you push him back so hard that he lands on the floor, hands splayed out against the carpet. Sam and the way his eyes brim with tears, you and your stupid mouth, you can’t open it far enough to tell him that he’ll thank you when he’s older.

Sam and the way he’s always loved you, the way your father pretends, the way your father loves Sam, you and your stupid mouth, you can’t ever tell him how much your father has fucked you up. Sam and his bowed mouth, trembling so bad, Sam and the hurt in his eyes, you can’t ever tell him what you really feel.

You and your stupid mouth, you can’t ever tell him how much you really love him.

***

The day you get back to Kansas, six months after Sam leaves for Stanford, the day your dreams stop, your father’s waiting for you at the motel. Your father and the way he’s always handled you, his fist feels uncomfortably familiar against the side of your face, against your cheekbone. Your father and his answer to everything, he’s grabbing you before you even have a chance to fall back, to react to his punch, your father and the way he’s always held you, he’s pulling you close and covering your mouth with his, and it’s just such a crime that you fit so perfectly together.

Your father and the way he’s always acted with you, he doesn’t ask where you were and you don’t tell him, the way he’s always ordered you around, he’s pushing you towards the bed without even giving you time to breathe. Your father and the awful way he’s ruined you, there’s no turning back from this, there’s no escaping him.

The day you get back to Kansas, six months after Sam leaves you two forever, for always this time, the day you stop dreaming of your father’s death, you give in to everything. You and your stupid mouth, it’s always gotten you in to trouble, it’s always betrayed you, you and your juvenile fantasies, but this time it’s not your father who sighs Sam’s name against your mouth.

You and your stupid mouth, the day you get back to Kansas, the day you finally stop hoping for a better life, the day you realize that you’re never going to get what you want, this time it’s you who’s thinking of someone else. Your father’s hands all over you, your father and the way he’s always pretended to love you, you and your stupid mouth, this time it’s you who calls out your brother’s name.


End file.
